


The Lines

by jovioli



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Drunk!Bucky, Fluff, M/M, More angst, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, also some swear words, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 07:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14232090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jovioli/pseuds/jovioli
Summary: “I mean none of the things Hydra did to me were as painful as watching you fall in love with Peggy… and not me.” Bucky's grin grows bigger with every word. Every word is a punch in Steve's gut.-post-winter-soldier angst based on a tumblr post I saw





	The Lines

**Author's Note:**

> I based this on a post I saw on Tumblr. It went something like this: "Bucky gets drunk on (some Asgardian beverage) and drunkenly tells Steve nothing Hydra ever did to him hurt him as much as watching Steve fall in love with Peggy." I can't remember nor find who the post was by, but credit for the idea goes out to that person (I'm sorry!). Here's my interpretation of it:) 
> 
> Concerning the timeline: this doesn't make sense if you consider Civil War etc. Just imagine it written right after Winter Soldier came out.

(1)

Whenever saving the world gets to tiresome Tony likes to throw parties. They are epic and wild. They are full of people the Avengers do and don’t know, but they take the opportunity either way to let some steam off. Steve is not a party guy, but he always attends, drinks two or three polite beers and water after that. He is however happy about the food the others are often too drunk to acknowledge. More he can eat. After some hours it’s on him to get everyone home in a safe manner. He doesn’t mind, really. Thor helps him more often than not, only because he can drink an entire bar’s worth of spirits and still walk on his hands in a straight line afterwards. It’s a mystery Steve will never care to solve. 

That was all, of course, before Bucky came back. Or rather, Steve found him. Tony doesn’t stop throwing parties, but Steve has other worries now. No need to socialize if he has his best friend back home, mentally unstable and plagued by flashes of memory and pain. Bucky’s mind is fragmented. Shattered into pieces. Nowadays Steve spends his time picking up those pieces and trying to fit them back together. He doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, though. Bucky isn’t much help. When he voices his desire to attend one of Tony’s parties – he finds the invitation on the kitchen table - Steve tells him there is no way. Alcohol is the last thing either of them needs. 

“Steve you’re not my mother. You don’t get to decide everything for me,” Bucky says, arms crossed. He stumbled out of bed mere minutes ago and his hair is a messy halo around his face. He wears nothing but sweatpants that hang low on his hips. Steve can’t look at him as he answers. 

“I’m not your mother, but I feel responsible for your well-being.” Steve picks up the paper with his free hand, the other clasped around a huge mug of coffee. It’s almost empty, he is going to need another one, and soon. 

“I’m a grown-up person,” Bucky grunts. In the corner of his eye Steve can see him staring, his arms still crossed and how his bare chest rises and falls. His arm reflects the morning sun that sneaked its way into their small kitchen. Faintly, Steve wonders if the metal is cold against Bucky’s skin. Or what it would be like to trace Bucky’s muscles with his fingers. Blood rises in his cheeks and Steve’s eyes dart over the printed words in front of him, his brain fails to process them.

“You aren’t even a person, Buck. You are two of them. I can barely deal with the other one when sober, now imagine if you had a lapse in a room crowded with people. People scare you.” Another bitter sip and his mug’s empty. Steve never enjoyed the taste of coffee, he desperately needs the caffeine though.

“No, they scare him,” Bucky replies. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says and finally turns his head to see he’s already lost. Bucky’s mouth is a hard, tightly pressed line, but his eyes are fire and they tell Steve exactly what he is going to say next. 

“It’s not like you can stop me.” There is a dangerous edge in Bucky’s voice, his meaning clear: try to stop me if you must. In an instant Steve is across the room, his hand around Bucky’s throat. He slams him into the counter and their bodies almost press against each other, not quite though or Steve would lose his mind. Bucky’s breathing picks up and he stares at Steve, eyes wide.

“Fine,” Steve says between gritted teeth. Blood rushes through his body, deepens the red spots on his cheeks. Despite his best efforts he can’t stay unaffected by their closeness, the curve of Bucky’s body, the way his pants seemed to have slipped even lower. “Do whatever the fuck you want. But do it alone. I’m not fixing your mess this time.” With that, he flees. If not, he might have let his eyes wander, might have pressed his lips against Bucky’s, might have lost every ounce of resolve. 

“Steve, please,” Bucky calls after him. “I didn’t meant to be –“ the door slams shut behind him and Steve runs. It’s the only thing he knows to do well these days. 

 

(2)

Bucky leaves at eight, has the decency to not ask Steve if he looks fine – he looks gorgeous, not that Steve would admit it. He hovers in the doorframe and Steve avoids his gaze, stares at the TV like it’s the most fascinating show in the entire world – Bucky is much more fascinating, not that he would ever say that out loud. 

“Well, I’m going now. I’m sorry, Stevie.” A shiver runs through Steve at the nickname and he stiffens as he hears Bucky approach him. “I do appreciate everything you do for me, but I just want to be normal for one evening. Can you understand that?” Steve remains impassive. His heart is on a rampage.

“Fine. I’ll be off then, have a nice evening.” Bucky presses a warm and soft kiss to Steve’s cheek. Then, he is gone and Steve’s face burns. 

“Fuck you,” he murmurs and doesn’t know at whom it’s directed. 

 

(3)

He makes it until ten. It’s longer than he expected and for a second, he relishes in pride over his self-control. Before his brain tells him that, were he truly in control, he would stay on the couch. By then Steve is already out the door and on his motorcycle. It’s a ten-minute ride to Tony’s house and Steve searches for Bucky’s body on the side of the street, twisted and broken. He grips the handle harder, so hard his knuckles pop. 

When Steve arrives one of Tony’s many minions wants to take his ‘coat’, then she realizes who she is talking to and blushes.

“Mr. R-rogers, welcome,” she stutters. “May I take your jacket?” Steve glances at her name tag.

“No thank you, Gina.” Steve much prefers to keep his leather on him, he gets cold. 

He scans the room. It’s small for Tony’s standards and lit by dark, colorful lights. The music is slow and jazzy, the kind Steve would have danced to with Peggy. Back then. 

They have been drinking alright. Bruce sits in a corner with Tony, eagerly discussing whatever, all the while he desperately tries to stay straight in his seat. He keeps tilting to the side and Tony has to grab him so he doesn’t crash to the ground. Nothing new here. There is Natasha who is playing some sort of game with a few people Steve doesn’t know. And then he finally spots Bucky who sits with Thor and Clint, they all hold massive pints filled with a bubbly purple liquid. Asgard’s best, as Thor claims. Steve has had it before and while it leaves no hangovers, he doesn’t remember much else of that night, so long ago. It’s strong. Natasha claims she got him to strip dance that night, Steve still clings to the hope that that was just to tease him and his colleagues have not seen him stripped down to his briefs. Covered in glitter. 

Luckily, no one important notices him and he doesn’t have to decline any offers of drink. He grabs one of his own from the bar and sits down on to the couch. Sam waves at him from where he is flirting with a girl that seems familiar to Steve, but he can’t quite place her. 

Bucky still looks the way he has two hours before, button-up shirt tugged into his too tight jeans, hair up and properly groomed. It’s a dream. But the way he holds onto the glass with one hand, laughs harder than anyone with him, the way he pats Thor’s cheek and sways a bit on his chair tell Steve all that is necessary. Bucky is positively shit-faced. He is good at hiding it, but Steve can read Bucky and his state is worrisome. He knows many a version of drunken Bucky, but that was back when everything was still fine. Steve is not eager to find out what this broken shell of his friend is like when intoxicated. Not that he has much of a choice. 

“Stevie,” Bucky exclaims all of a sudden and hops over to where Steve is sitting by himself. He places his glass on the table and plants himself on Steve’s lap with surprising grace. “Are you still mad at meee?” He rubs his face against Steve’s cheek, but Steve throws him off. 

“Don’t jump on people like that,” he says and downs the one drink he has allowed himself in one big gulp. The alcohol burns in his throat.

“You’re not people,” Bucky complains and pokes Steve in the side. He tries hard to look grumpy, but fails to wipe the grin off his face. It’s kind of adorable and Steve has to suppress a smile of his own. “You’re Steeeeeeeve.” It’s goofy Bucky then. A Bucky Steve knows and can handle, which is a relief. Suddenly he can breathe again and it’s how he notices how worried he was that this evening would turn into a complete disaster. This version of drunk Bucky is mostly adorable though, will run into the occasional wall, but that’s that. Nothing drastic and certainly nothing inducing a mental breakdown.  
He allows himself to smile at Bucky, only the tiniest of smiles, but it lights up Bucky’s face as if he’s turned a switch. 

“Finally, a smile,” Bucky exclaims and blushes. “I like it better.” He moves for his glass, but Steve is faster and grabs his hands out of the air, holds them in his. One warm and soft, the other hard and cold metal. He still isn’t used to it.

“I know. I’m only worried about you, okay? You’re not in the greatest place right now,” he says and looks at Bucky, really looks at him and holds his gaze. Bucky’s smile falters.

“Don’t you think I don’t know that? I’m the one stuck in my head. I just wanted to have fun for once. One evening where Hydra can’t touch me. Is that so weird?”

„Of course not. But you’re with me now, Buck. No one can touch you.” Which isn’t entirely true and they both now it, but Bucky smiles anyway. In his head the torture goes on. “No one will hurt you.” At least not if Steve can prevent it. 

“Yeah well,” Bucky murmurs and looks at Steve, a mischievous sparkle in his eye, “There is still you, huh?” He giggles and shakes his head left and right and left and right. Steve honestly doesn’t know what’s so funny. It refuels his anger. He can’t help it, doesn’t want to be angry at the one person he loves most in this entire fucked-up world. Sometimes telling himself that it’s all because of Bucky’s mind isn’t enough. Sometimes Steve wishes Bucky would just stop being broken and strange. Just be Bucky again, he wants to say. If it weren’t for the implications. 

“What’s that supposed to mean,” he asks. When Bucky doesn’t stop giggling Steve grabs his head, forcing his friend to look him in the eye. “Bucky?” 

“I mean…” Bucky trails off, his grin falters and for a moment his eyes lose focus. He stares through Steve and beyond, sees, remembers, drifts off to where Steve can’t follow. It has been happening so often lately that he feels like he might lose Bucky and he can’t let that happen, not again, not anymore. They are beyond that, they are together for god’s sake, why must he keep losing him. 

“James, get a grip,” Steve growls. When Bucky doesn’t react, he lets go of his head and grabs his shoulders, shakes him and that gets him back alright. Bucky flinches, but the lazy smile paints itself back onto his face in an instant. 

“I mean none of the things Hydra did to me were as painful as watching you fall in love with Peggy… and not me.” Bucky’s grin grows bigger with every word. Every word is a punch in Steve’s gut, a slap in his face. His arms fall to his sides, lifeless. Bucky puts a hand on Steve’s face and lets it linger for just a moment. When it’s gone once more Steve wants to hold on, keep the warmth and the closeness. He can’t comprehend what he’s just heard. 

“Do you mean that?” 

“Of course, I do! You’re the best!” Bucky laughs and turns away, soon distracted by a gif Tony is showing around on his phone. Steve can feel an invisible hand at his throat, he suffocates. 

He has to get up, has to not see Bucky’s face for a moment, but he can’t leave him, can he? Not when he is drunk like this. No one in their right mind would confess such a thing and start laughing. He stumbles up and away, murmurs an apology to Bucky who doesn’t even register his presence anymore. The room around him falls silent, all noise drowned out by the panicked pulsing of his heart. It beats in his ears, drums that torture him and his head fills with picture of horror.  
Pictures of Bucky as he lies in bed at night, biting back tears. Bucky as he fights for Steve, follows his friend blindly into war although he has hurt him like no other ever could. And even though the Winter Soldier was a different person, not his friend, not really, he sees Bucky as he loves Steve for more than sixty years, all the while thinking ‘he never loved me back’.  
Steve makes it to the sink, grateful for all his training and resolve in that moment because it’s what keeps him from throwing up. His hands shake as he fills a glass with tap water, downs it himself, before refilling it to take it to his friend. A wave of nausea passes over him, but he has no patience for small sips. He wants Bucky to sober up so they can talk, but there is no way. The Asgardian ale is too strong, too persistent. Almost like it’s inhabitants. Well, those Steve knows anyway.  
He keeps breathing and it steadies him, the rhythmic in and out. In and out. Then Steve heads back to his friend and switches the glass in Bucky’s hands.

“Thank you, Stevie,” he exclaims and smiles, so wide and happy as if Steve has just fulfilled his deepest wish in life. It’s another punch and Steve’s gut clenches. Before he can reply, though, Bucky declares he wants to challenge Natasha to a duel and wanders of in her direction. He always did like to fight when drunk, it’s no surprise, but Steve can’t believe it. Bucky was in love with him. Is he still? Or has that too been lost with years of torture and brain-washing? Steve can only guess. 

His eyes are glued to the bulky form of his best friend as he puts on his most charming smile and tries to sweet-talk Natasha into the face-off. She is in her own state of somewhat drunk, but gladly accepts the challenge. Steve knows Bucky is strong, his senses sharp. Knows Natasha is as quick and deadly as they get. They are both wasted though and what unfolds before him shouldn’t have been possible. It would be amazing, given other circumstances. 

They are a flurry of bodies, their fight almost like a dance they have practiced over and over. Bucky goes to punch, Natasha blocks. Natasha goes to swipe Bucky’s legs off from underneath him, he dodges gracefully. It’s sheer luck that will win either the fight. Steve wouldn’t place a bet. 

“Hey, don’t break anything,” Tony calls across the room. He cheers nonetheless as Natasha lands a solid blow to Bucky’s jaw. Bucky doesn’t even bat an eye and Steve doesn’t care because Natasha can’t truly hurt him. Not like Steve has. Still is?  
Bucky bares his teeth and then they are at it again. Punch, kick. Natasha’s on the ground with Bucky straddling her. Twist, slap. Bucky flies off against the nearest wall and Natasha dashes towards him, tries to land a kick in his gut, but Bucky grabs her leg and flings her over. So, it goes. 

The rage boils inside of Steve, hard and fast. It spills over and he turns to punch the wall, hits Thor’s chest instead. Thor blinks, then grins and Steve wants nothing more than to wipe the floor with that stupid grin. As he looks at him Thor’s smile falters and Steve guesses the raging storm of emotion must show in his face. 

“Captain,” the Asgardian says and raises an eyebrow. “If you wanted to spar, you could have just said so.” 

“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize you were behind me.”

“It’s about him, isn’t it?” Thor flashes a thumb in Bucky’s general direction but doesn’t take his eyes off Steve. The stare cuts through him and Steve feels like he is being picked apart bit by bit. It’s moments like this that Steve realizes he knows nothing about Asgardians at all. Even less about Thor himself. 

“Come one, let’s go outside. I hear that fresh air can clear your head.”

“Nothing in this city is fresh,” Steve murmurs and adverts his gaze. A strong hand grips his shoulder. Damn it hurts.

“I really think we should talk,” Thor groans. On impulse, Steve wants to protest, search for an excuse, but Thor holds onto his arm and pulls. In terms of raw strength they are equal, if it wasn’t for that cursed hammer. It’s they only reason Steve doesn’t resist, he has seen what Mjölnir can do. He might have been able to move it, but Steve would never manage to get up were it put on his chest for example.  
Thor drags him through the room and to Steve’s exasperation no one seems to care the he is being abducted. At least, that’s what it feels like.

“Have fun,” Tony mouths and Bruce gives them two thumbs-ups. They are too drunk to notice Steve’s scowls or the way he isn’t willingly going with Thor. But then they are out the door and on a small balcony that Steve hasn’t noticed before. Only when the door falls shut behind them, the music and chatter drowned out by the restless noise of the big city, does Thor let go of his arm. There is a siren somewhere and still the dull thud of the bass. Tony’s music has picked up. They both lean against the balustrade.

“Steve,” Thor says, simple, but questioning. Eyebrows raised he turns towards Steve and waits. Steve takes one look at him, then he can’t take it anymore, lets his eyes wander out into the endless and not-quite dark night of New York City. 

“I’m surprised you remember my name.” Any other time, it’s captain. Or Rogers. Either is fine with Steve.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are my friend.” A hard hand claps him on the back and Steve has to cough. It is not in Thor’s nature to be negative. The guy is either stupidly content, bordering on happy, or furious. At least in Steve’s experience there is nothing else and nothing in between with the god of thunder. So, Steve shouldn’t be surprised that Thor considers him a friend, but it still derails his train of thought. Because if Thor sees him as a friend, he is here to help him. Actually wants to talk about Steve’s feelings and he is not at all ready to open himself to some alien who thinks himself divine. 

“Great,” he murmurs. Maybe if he ignores Thor long enough he will yield and leave Steve alone. A not-quite silence settles over their conversation and it drags. On and on. Every second Steve can’t think straight, he grows madder and more confused. He needs to consider what Bucky has said, preferably on his own. Without worrying about drunk Bucky. Without the god of thunder looming over his shoulder. Had he only taken the shield.

“You really think waiting will make me talk to you?” he asks, grips the railing harder. 

“I’ve dealt with more stubborn people like you,” Thor laughs and empties his pint. Somehow it escaped Steve’s attention that he carried it all the way out here. He wonders how many Thor has had and if he will reach a level that resembles intoxication tonight. 

“You mean your godawful brother?”

“Loki has a strange heart. He’s not at ease with himself and does stupid things, don’t we all?” He can only wildly guess at what is going on in the Asgardian’s head. Maybe it’s because Loki’s his brother, or he has an entirely different definition of stupid things, but Steve sees no version of this story in which Loki gets away with any sort of pity. Gets away with anything other than a death sentence if he is totally honest with himself. 

“Well yeah, but… whatever it doesn’t matter now,” Steve says, only because he doesn’t have it in him to argue. On any other day he would gladly defend his opinion. 

“No, it doesn’t.” Steve dares a glance at Thor and immediately regrets it. His smile is dazzling, it drips of kindness and honesty. Steve’s fist tingles. “Will you tell me what is troubling you or do I have to punch it out of you?” He means it too, Steve realizes.  
So, he tells Thor. What does he have to lose after all? He doesn’t expect an intelligent answer or even a solution to his situation. On the other hand, Thor isn’t one to gossip and Steve figures telling him is the fastest way to be rid of him. Let him ‘help’ and be off. Preferably, with his best friend. If Bucky can sit upright on the motor cycle that is. When he’s finished he doesn’t feel relieved or any better. Steve’s empty, more confused than before.

“And now I don’t know what to think”, he concludes. He looks up at Thor and at least the grin is gone, replaced by a thoughtful expression. 

“Back when I was younger my friends and I would solve conflict through combat. We would spar until all our anger and hard feelings were gone and then we could talk about it in a rational manner.” Trust Thor to be savage about it. In truth, Steve didn’t think it was such a bad idea, but not for his particular situation. There was no way he’d lay a finger on Bucky to get a grip on his own emotions. They had fought enough when the Winter Soldier was still dominant. 

“I can see how that would work,” Steve admits and offers Thor a small smile. Being angry won’t get him anywhere, at least that bit he got out of their conversation. “But I don’t think it’s what I should do.”

“No, I agree. Your friend seems delicate to me. Obviously, he can fight, but not in a way that involves his emotions.” Thor flipped the pint and threw it up, caught it in his hand without looking and then again. Steve’s gaze followed the flying glass, hypnotized in a good way. 

“Do you have another idea?” 

“Frankly, I’d take him home and talk to him about it when he is not full of ale,” Thor says and it’s what Steve was afraid of. Because that is the most sensible thing to do, the most logical. He doesn’t know if he can though, doesn’t want to put a strain on Bucky’s mind and one on his own heart. Deep in his heart he’d hoped Thor would tell him to forget about it. That was all back in the 40’s, surely his feelings died with so many other things during his years of brain-washing. Surely. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. Thor catches the glass one last time.

“I’m sure you will figure it out,” he says, his smile warm and so is his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Not overwhelming and strong, but a reassuring squeeze. “I wish you good fortune.”  
And then he leaves Steve alone, maybe because he sensed that Steve wanted him to or maybe he just wanted a refill. Either way Steve was grateful. Not exactly at ease or further into figuring out what to do. But he knew what not to do know, and wasn’t that a step in the right direction, too? 

 

(4)

When Steve walks back inside the fight is over. Bucky and Natasha are on the floor, reduced to a giggling heap of limbs. Of all his emotions, jealousy is the once that fills him out then and he’s had enough. This evening had taken all of Steve’s insides and twisted them before putting them back inside of him. He was nauseous and angry and most of all pissed at Natasha for touching Bucky like that. Draping herself over him like that. She says something and touches his chest and Bucky does the worst thing, he laughs, a deep rumble that echoes all the way to where Steve is standing, fists clenched still. He’s had it.  
In five strides he’s across the room, earns himself more than one insult for it as he pushes people out of the way. He hovers over the two of them and they stare up, four eyes glittering amused and happy. 

“Steve,” Natasha exclaims and tries to reach for his arm. Instead of gripping it, she face-plants onto the ground which drives Bucky into another fit of laughter. Suddenly Steve wishes he could have gone into this evening with a different attitude. Could have had fun with his friends and enjoyed his time. If only Bucky didn’t say what he said Steve might have even relaxed. At this point it’s a mantra. It’s not Bucky’s fault. He helps Natasha up. It’s not Bucky’s fault. He offers Bucky his hand, but he doesn’t seem to grasp Steve’s intention and just pokes at it. It’s not Bucky’s fault. 

“Fine,” Steve says. He squats, wraps his arms around his friend and lifts. Even though Steve is strong, Bucky’s weight presses down on his shoulders and he stumbles for a second, regains his composure, his feelings to blame. 

“What are you doing?” Natasha pouts at him and Steve tries for a smile, but he knows it looks more like a sad grimace. 

“Taking Bucky home. Will you be okay?”

“Of course, goodbye James!” She winks and waves at Bucky. In that moment Steve despises her. 

“See ya,” Bucky replies, rests his cheek against Steve’s back. The ale seems to have unfolded its full strength now because Bucky’s snoring before they have exited the building. Needless to say that Steve left his bike and walked all the way home, struggling to keep his friend up, struggling to keep tears of frustration from running over his face. 

 

(5)

They arrive back at the apartment at one and Steve throws Bucky into his bed, turns to leave immediately, but Bucky’s voice stops him.

“Steve,” he mumbles and grabs Steve’s collar, the metal crunching as it closes around the fabric, and pulls him down. His eyes are half-open, and he gazes at Steve from underneath his lids, hazed. Steve wants nothing more than to leave him be and go to bed.

“What are you doing?” Bucky smiles and pulls him down further. Their lips meet in an awkward clash and then Bucky’s mouth moves. It’s a proper kiss, sweet and intoxicating and it’s pure instinct that makes Steve kiss him back although he can’t quite process what is happening. It lasts for about five eternal seconds. Then Bucky slumps back into the mattress, eyes already fallen shut.

“Nighty, Stevie,” he says. “I love you.” Bucky drifts off again and Steve sits there, staring at his friend, wide awake. 

 

(6)

The rest of the night was hell. It took Steve another half hour or so to finally move away from Bucky’s side and drag himself into his own bed where he threw himself around until he had enough and went for a run. A long run. 

He’s just out of the shower, making coffee, when Bucky joins him in the kitchen. It’s six a.m. It’s a miracle the guy is up and as fresh as he looks. Steve glances at him once then concentrates on the task before him. Coffee, then anything else. 

“Morning!” Bucky’s cheery voice irks him, it’s apparent he remembers nothing of last night, or at least not the weird bits. 

“Mornin’,” Steve mumbles and pulls out a mug and the container of milk. Next to him Bucky downs a glass of water and stretches. When he puts one hand on Steve’s arm, Steve flinches. 

“I’m going for a run. Are you coming?”

“No. I went already.” 

“What at four in the morning?” Bucky laughs, his hand still rests there, and it makes Steve’s head hurt. He wishes Bucky would just leave already and then he hates himself for the thought. Steve thought he’d get over it quickly, forget the whole thing even happened, but it doesn’t seem to be that simple. 

“Three.”

“That’s early, even for you.” Steve shrugs. 

“Okay, fine,” Bucky says and lets his hands fall to the counter. “What’s going on.” He stands so close, Steve can feel his hot breath, it’s suffocating. 

“Nothing.”

“Steve, talk to me.” Bucky makes a grab for Steve’s hand, but he slaps it away. “Please?” Steve turns towards Bucky, only after having a big gulp of his coffee that burns the inside of his mouth. 

“It’s nothing okay? Sometimes being around you is just hard. That is all.”

“Well, I am sorry,” Bucky huffs and throws his arms up. “I’ll go for that run now. And while I’m on it I’ll think about all the ways I can make it up to you. You know that thing where they fucked my brain up.” Steve can hear the sarcasm splatter to the ground and he flinches. Once more their talk bypasses one another. Once more he’s hurt Bucky. This time he doesn’t follow. Gauging Bucky’s mental state is a skill Steve has acquired these past months which is why he knows it’s fine. 

Besides he needs the time for himself to consider. Think about everything that’s going on between them. Steve does not want to tell Bucky what transpired between them last night nor what Bucky confessed. Still, it’s Bucky’s right to know. This concerns both of them. Steve is just so fucking scared. Bucky might have kissed him, might have confessed his love to him But he was drunk beyond measure at that point and Steve is scared. Scared it might have been nothing more than an echo of a past that never was.  
In the end Steve decides to do the cowardly thing. Which was leave it to Bucky to bring it up again. If he didn’t then Steve wouldn’t either. There is a chance, but there is also a risk and he deems it greater. He can deal with the rejection for sure. He can’t deal with destroying their friendship, though, and he isn’t sure that Bucky could either. 

 

(7)

Bucky is gone for an hour and Steve does nothing but sit on the couch the entire time and count the seconds until he comes back. By the time the front door creaks open tears run down his cheeks. When Bucky comes in Steve looks up at him. 

“You said it was nothing,” Bucky says and steps closer. “Now I come in and you sit here crying. It’s not nothing Steve.”

“I know, but it’s not your fault.” Which is only half of a lie and Steve is almost surprised how well it passes his lips. He wipes at his face, but the tears keep on spilling. 

“Look, if it’s too much I can go. There must be someone out there who will help me without turning me in.” A knife to Steve’s heart. He can’t remember how he got from caring for Bucky to making him feel unwanted. Making him think that Steve wants him to leave when the opposite is true. 

“That’s not what I want.” At some point he jumped up, started screaming. He stands face to face with Bucky now, beautiful sweaty Bucky who looks at him with a blank expression. 

“Not at all,” Steve says and moves closer. His head drops to Bucky’s shoulder. They stay like that. 

“Steve will you tell me what the fuck is going on here?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he replies. Strong arms, one silent, one creaking, push him away. Bucky has always been one to look Steve in the eye when it gets serious. It’s like every nerve in Steve’s body is set on denying him that. His eyelids twitch. Something outside catches his attention. He feels uneasy, squeamish, but forces himself to look at Bucky. 

“You told me something last night,” He says. All color drains out of Bucky’s face, the flush from the exercise turned into milk-white complexion. Steve realizes Bucky works through the possibilities of everything he might have said. He didn’t think it possible, but Bucky pales further. 

“What did I say?” 

“You said,” Steve breaks off because his voice fails him. He doesn’t see Bucky approach, only feels his warm arms as they wrap around his middle and draw him close. Closer than they have been in years. His eyes flutter shut, but it’s what gives Steve the strength to finally say it. “You said that nothing Hydra did to you was as painful as watching me fall in love with Peggy and not you.” There is silence after that and how could there not be. It stretches endlessly and in Steve’s head seconds turn into minutes. He hears Bucky’s steady breathing, his embrace has not faltered or weakened, but it’s just a fraction stiffer now. Only then does Steve dare to open his eyes again. He almost jumps as he finds Bucky’s face just an inch from his own. His eyes are fixed on Steve’s face.

“Steve,” Bucky sighs and it breaks him. The magnitude of sadness in Bucky’s voice just fucking ruins him and it’s when he can’t make out Bucky’s features anymore that he realizes he is crying again. 

“You said it, it isn’t my fault,” Steve says. He hiccups, a sob shakes him. Bucky’s forehead falls against his own.

“You always have been a crier,” he murmurs and grins. In spite of himself Steve has to laugh. It quickly fades though as his eyes fall shut and they both breath the same air and Steve’s forehead tingles pleasantly where it touches Bucky’s skin and anticipation builds, deep, deep in the pit of his stomach. 

“Bucky, is it true?” 

“Of course, it’s true,” Bucky says. On their own, Steve’s hand finds Bucky’s face and he lets his thumb wander over his cheeks, his lips. They part under his touch and Bucky’s breathing quickens. “Of course, it’s true.” 

Steve kisses him because the closeness got unbearable, the sheer need to kiss Bucky, never mind anything else. Bucky’s thunderstruck at first, utterly frozen under Steve’s touch, but then the grip he has on Steve’s shirt tightens and he pulls him flat against his chest. His lips soften and he moves his mouth against Steve’s, eager and hungry. They tumble backwards onto the couch, never breaking the kiss and from there on it’s downwards. They claw at each other, can’t get close enough and it’s a forceful press of lips now rather than a sweet kiss, but it’s fine because they’re together and Steve lips tingle and his heart does happy flips, around and around. For a second, he needs a break, props himself up on his elbows to look at Bucky. Steve decides there and then that looking at Bucky is his favorite activity, second only to kissing him. Bucky’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes gleam, amused, but his mouth is a hard line. 

“What about her?” he asks and his gulp is audible. Steve sees Peggy in his mind’s eye, her smile and he smiles too. Back at her, and at Bucky whose insecurity would be cute if not for the way he’s suffered under it already. 

“I loved Peggy. I still do.” Steve has to say this even though he knows what it will do to Bucky. His own heart clenches at the words. “But never as much as I loved you. As much as I still love you. I let myself fall for Peggy because I knew there was no chance you’d ever have anything but feelings of friendship for me. Or that is what I believed. I didn’t fall in love with you back then because I already was.”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“Then don’t say anything.” Bucky raises an eyebrow, but already his eyes wander down to Steve’s lips again and it’s like his gaze is fire. It’s seconds and then Bucky pulls him down and drowns him once more. The taste of his lips, the feel of his tongue sliding against his own, it’s intoxicating, and Steve has waited years for this. He moans into Bucky’s mouth. The echo thrown back at him tells him that this is it. They have endured all the crap the world has thrown at them, have lived through and torture and amnesia. A fucking world war. If they tried to count the deaths between them, they would fail. 

He’s Captain fucking America and Bucky is the guy that half of the world’s underground organizations want to see dead because he crossed them in some way or another. In that moment that isn’t them though. In that moment Steve is Steve, the guy who would have shivered to death in his teen years if not for his best friend who held him close during all those biting winter nights. He’s Bucky’s Steve. And Bucky is Bucky, the guy who made it his life’s work to take care of his awkwardly small and sickly best friend. He is his Bucky, and only his. 

Bucky kisses him slow and soft, his lips move, murmur sweet words against Steve’s mouth. Words of affection and words of adoration. ‘I love you, I love you, so incredibly much, I love you, Steve, my sweet little Steve, why for godsake has it taken this long, never stop kissing me okay’ and of course Steve cries again. When Bucky’s lips graze his cheek he shivers, when Bucky slides a hand under his shirt and touches the sensitive skin over his stomach waves of warm pleasure flood him. When Bucky plants small kisses along his jawline Steve thinks he might be the happiest he’s ever been.  
It doesn’t stop there and how could it. A quick flip and Steve’s a moaning and crying mess underneath his best friend. He wouldn’t have it any other way. With shaky hands he undoes Bucky’s bun and throws the hairband away, buries his hands deep into the thick hair and pulls. 

“Fuck,” Bucky grunts and his breath is hot against Steve’s skin. There is a sharp sound as Bucky’s metal arm tears at Steve’s shirt, rips it into pieces. His own follows suit. Carefully he lowers his body again and their chests touch. Bucky’s skin burns against his own, it’s glorious. When Bucky’s done with his jaw, he moves lower, presses open-mouthed kisses on Steve’s throat. He feels too much at once, their skin touching in so many places and it throws him back to cold winter nights in which he used to dream about this, nights when Bucky wasn’t there for him and he was free to fantasize about his friend. Of course back then, he was still puny Stevie and Bucky had less hair and more arms. It only makes it better, Bucky’s kisses a reward Steve feels like he deserves so much. Everything about him feels hot, only his lips start to turn cold again and he pulls Bucky up, claims Bucky’s mouth hungry and desperate to have Bucky warm them up. He loses himself in the kiss once more, touches Bucky everywhere he can reach. Steve is a panting mess, not one coherent thought on his mind. This is all Bucky’s fault and it’s fucking glorious. 

“Steve,” Bucky says suddenly and places his metal hand on Steve’s chest, breaks their kiss. It’s cold and pulls him out of his haze in a rough manner. 

“What? What is it?” Steve’s eyes search Bucky’s face, but his friend is still here, still with him. 

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, chuckling. “I just need a moment to catch my breath, alright?” Steve nods and wraps his arms around him. With a thud, Bucky falls down, their chests flat against each other, and presses his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. “I can’t believe this is happening.” His breathing is a bit too fast, too hectic and not quite even. Steve is glad that Bucky’s stopped him, ashamed to admit that he wouldn’t have noticed it in his desire. 

“I can’t either,” Steve agrees and one of his hands find Bucky’s hair, starting to comb through the tangled mess he made. “Are you okay, Bucky?” 

“Never been better,” Bucky replies. Steve would love to believe him.


End file.
